The boy and the beast
by potatoboss1
Summary: Archive story Dira Sudis


By the end of the week, Stiles found himself settling into the bizarre new routine that was his life. He figured out how to get an hour or two with Derek each day (on top of the dreams and the jerkoff sessions). He ate lunch with kids who were light years more popular than he was. He teased Scott about Allison and conspired with Allison to manage Scott. He didn't give his dad new reasons to worry about him.

He got takeout to share with Derek on Friday, and it already felt like a tradition, even if Stiles wasn't sleeping over this time and the food was Chinese instead of burgers. They sat on a big flat rock on the edge of the river, where the late afternoon sunshine made it kind of nice to be sitting outside.

Derek made a disgusted noise at the bright pink sweet and sour sauce but snarfed down the shrimp fried rice, sticking his nose straight into the carton. Stiles lectured him on manners with his mouth full, and Derek snorted into the rice and kept eating. Stiles got within about a foot of balancing an eggroll on Derek's nose before Derek snapped it out of his hand, and when Stiles pulled out the fortune cookies, Derek knocked both of them into the river before Stiles could even open the wrapper.

After they'd demolished all the food, Derek got up like he was going to go off running, but it was totally half-hearted.

"No, man, you know the rules. Now we have to hang out for a while and digest. I don't have anything horrible to ask you this time, we'll be cool."

He didn't, either. There were some horrible things he could have told Derek--his dad had warrants for four arrests but he was biding his time, because they were still no closer to identifying the ringleader--but that was a secret, and Stiles was keeping his mouth shut. About that, anyway.

Derek lay down beside him with a huff, curling half around Stiles, and Stiles summoned up some non-horrible things to talk about instead.

He talked about his weekend homework, and about the odds of Beacon Hills beating Sturgis in tomorrow's lacrosse game, and meandered into the continuing weirdness of knowing Lydia's opinions on strategy. He started on a kind of tortured Jersey Shore analogy for their semi-friendship and stopped in the middle of it as a thought occurred to him.

"Oh man, you can't watch any TV now! Are you missing your shows? Do you need me to update you on anything? Do you care about football? The Seahawks lost last week, it's all teams out east now. I don't know if I'm rooting for any--"

He actually saw Derek's hackles go up even before he heard the low growl rumbling out of him. Stiles froze, and Derek put one paw on his thigh, tucking his head in close to Stiles's belly and nudging at him. Keep going.

Derek had heard or scented something and wanted Stiles to play it cool, which had to mean there was something--someone--creeping up behind them, and Stiles couldn't look back. He just had to trust Derek--well, he did trust Derek--so all he had to do was keep talking.

"I don't actually watch football, though," Stiles said, resting his hands on Derek's back for the reassuring warmth, refusing to think that this might be one last touch before something horrible. "I'm more of a baseball fan. And lacrosse, obviously, but there aren't as many pro leagues as you would expect for such an awesomely manly and entertaining--"

Derek knocked him flat and disappeared, and even as Stiles rolled over onto his side to see where Derek was running, he heard an extremely familiar yelp.

"Stiles!"

He was up and on his feet a second later, already yelling back as he ran. "Derek! Don't, hey, don't--"

Derek had already tackled Scott, and Stiles threw himself to his knees beside them, shoving the flat of his hand between Derek's snarling mouth and Scott's terrified face.

"Derek!" Stiles yelled, directly into Derek's ear, but he might as well have been seven miles away; Derek kept growling. He had Scott pinned to the ground and, oh God, his eyes were glowing red. Scott was making tiny whimpering sounds like a lost puppy.

"Hey, Derek! Don't! This is Scott, he's my friend, he--"

Stiles took his hand away from Derek's mouth long enough to shove the sleeve of his shirt up over his cast. He held it out directly in front of Derek's eyes, showing him the SCOTT side. "Scott! This is Scott, he's my best friend! Scott, like it says right here, okay!"

Stiles saw the fur drop down to normal over the back of Derek's shoulders, and his eyes stopped glowing, but he shoved Stiles's cast aside with his nose and growled directly into Scott's face.

"Oh my God, stop being an asshole! He's my friend, he probably followed me because he's worried about me going off by myself all the time."

Stiles shoved at Derek's shoulder, and Derek huffed but stopped growling. Scott was still staring at him with his eyes cartoon-wide, but after a second he shifted to staring at Stiles.

"Stiles," he whispered, eyes darting back and forth from Stiles to Derek--specifically Derek's teeth, which were still bared. "What the fuck--"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "He can hear you, dude. He heard you a mile away."

Stiles shoved at Derek, who had not quit looming menacingly over Scott. "Actually, hey, when did you hear Scott? Why did you let him get that close if you thought he was--"

Derek snorted and shifted aside, his body language relaxing all at once. Stiles couldn't help a startled bray of laughter, and whacked Derek on the shoulder with his cast.

"Derek! You are such a jerk, you were fucking with--" Stiles redirected down to Scott, because Derek was just looking pleased with himself instead of sorry. "He was just fucking with both of us. I'm sorry, I guess he's forgetting all his social skills out here."

"Uh," Scott said, and pushed cautiously up onto his elbows. "What social skills? He's a wolf."

"Scott, seriously, did you hear anything I just said? He's not a wolf!"

Derek snorted again, sat back and howled.

"Derek, shut up--okay, yes, obviously he is a wolf," Stiles said, flapping a hand at Derek's ostentatious display of wolfliness. "But he's a wolf who's usually a human. A person. He's Derek Hale, he's just--enchanted or cursed or something. He's stuck like this, it's a thing, he doesn't like to talk about it."

Scott stared at him blankly, like none of that had been English.

"Derek Hale," Stiles repeated slowly. "As in the Hale house? This is Derek, and he's a werewolf, but he's stuck like this. Scott, he saved my life when I was hurt. He found me and took care of me for two days until I could stand up and walk enough to get found."

Scott looked back and forth from Stiles to Derek. This time Derek raised one paw and flapped it up and down, the closest a wolf could get to waving.

"You--what--but--werewolves are a real thing?"

Stiles grinned so hugely his face hurt. "Dude, I know, right? Welcome to my life!"

Scott laughed a little, incredulously, even as Stiles realized the truth of that: this was the biggest, weirdest, most awesome thing that had ever happened in his entire life, and for two whole weeks he'd kept it from Scott. Now he didn't have to anymore. Now he couldn't if he wanted to.

"Dude, Scott," he repeated, more seriously. "Welcome to my life. I missed you."

Scott frowned, pushing all the way up to sit with a wary look at Derek. "You--is this why you have a pawprint on the bottom of your cast? His pawprint? This is where you've been going all the time, to hang out with him?"

Stiles's mouth hung open. He knew, logically, that that look on Scott's face and that tone in his voice and all those things he was saying meant Scott was jealous, but he couldn't actually fathom that that was where Scott was going with this. Werewolves were a real thing, Derek was the most awesome magical being either of them were ever going to meet, and Scott was annoyed that he wasn't the only one who got to sign Stiles's cast?

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, making a little string of cut-off vowel noises.

He didn't know how to make Scott understand, especially without giving away secrets--he couldn't bring up the fire at all, and he probably shouldn't mention Laura, and anyway he wasn't going to play the Derek's whole entire family is dead and I'm all he's got card with Derek sitting right there.

"I couldn't," he finally said. "Scott, I couldn't tell you about him! Do you remember Allison's dad? With the rifle? I didn't want you to have to lie about knowing there's a wolf in the woods!"

"He wouldn't--" Scott started, but he didn't even get the whole word out before he was looking dubiously at Derek. Stiles could see him calculating just how long Mr. Argent would hesitate before shooting the Big Bad Wolf because he might actually be a person. He winced, and Stiles figured he had come up pretty close to Stiles's estimate, which was zero point zero zero seconds.

Scott frowned in thought. "Are you really, really sure he's an actual person and not just a--a really nice wolf? Or a stray--"

Derek growled, and his eyes flashed red again.

"Yeah, see, stray dogs don't have magical glowing eyes, and they don't understand when you insult them by calling them stray dogs," Stiles pointed out. "Scott, I've spent a lot of time with him, okay? Please trust me on this. He's a werewolf, he's Derek Hale, we're buddies, and now that you know you need to help me keep him a secret. My dad's figured out that I'm coming out here to meet someone, he--"

Scott got a guilty look on his face.

"Scott!" Stiles said, his voice pitching up at the betrayal. "Tell me you did not follow me out here because my dad asked you to."

"No!" Scott said, but his outrage evaporated instantly. "Well, I mean, he talked to me about it, but I'm not going to go tattle on you to your dad, Stiles, jeez, I would never."

Derek snorted and tilted his head, and Scott looked toward him, affronted. "I wouldn't! He was worried, and I was worried too, but I'm not going to tell on Stiles!"

Derek tilted his head back and forth, making a low grumbling noise that sounded like a parody of speech. Talk, talk, talk.

Stiles realized that Derek didn't believe Scott, and he wondered if that was Derek being reluctant to trust a stranger with his secret--although if he really hadn't wanted Scott to know he should have taken off while Scott was still too far away to hear them--or if Derek actually could tell. A person with a human brain and a wolf's senses would probably be a pretty good cold reader or interrogator, picking up on all the little tells people gave off.

Stiles squinted at Scott and considered what Scott might not be saying, and then it was obvious. "You would, though."

Scott looked back at him, edging toward angry again, and Stiles shook his head.

"Not in a bad way. If you thought I was in danger, or I was meeting someone who might hurt me. You'd tell my dad if you thought it was the only way to help me."

Scott looked startled for a second and then ducked his head.

"Okay, well, this isn't an after-school special," Stiles said, glancing back and forth from Scott to Derek and gentling his voice.

"Derek's not getting me hooked on crack and he's not, you know," Stiles made himself say it evenly, and wondered what Derek might read off of him as he did, "sticking his hand down my pants or anything."

Scott rolled his eyes like Stiles was the one missing the point, and Stiles pressed on.

"You remember what I said at the hospital? If wolves didn't attack me when I was hurt that means there are no killer wolves? That was true, Scott, because if Derek had wanted to hurt me he had two solid days when I literally could not stand up on my own, and all he did was bring me food and make sure I stayed warm. He helped me splint my wrist so I wouldn't mess it up worse. He did everything he could to help me, and now we hang out and eat junk food and Derek makes me go running every day."

Scott gave a short, startled laugh, and looked back and forth between them. Derek turned back toward them at that, grinning open-mouthed. "Seriously? So it really does take a monster chasing you to get you to run?"

Derek darted toward Scott and snapped his teeth just short of Scott's belly, and Scott scrambled backward and up to his feet.

Stiles grinned. "He's not a monster, you jerk. He's a really good coach. Come on, you're coming with us today. Unless you were actually telling the truth about having dinner with Allison and her parents tonight?"

"Yeah, no, that was a total lie," Scott agreed. "Dressed like this, though?"

"Monsters don't wait for you to put on your gym clothes," Stiles pointed out, getting up to his feet, and Derek darted toward him with a playful growl, waving his tail as he did. Stiles turned and ran into the trees with Scott at his side and Derek on his heels.

* * *

Derek led them back to their cars toward the end of the run, when the sun was sinking into the trees. When Scott's--not hidden, just pulled over on the side of the narrow dirt road--was in sight, Scott stopped and bent over, hands on his knees as he panted. Derek pushed close to him, tilting his head so that his ear was almost pressed to Scott's ribs.

Scott flapped a hand at him and gasped, "I'll have--good posture--when I'm running--I promise."

Derek backed off a little, giving Stiles a look. Stiles shook his head and picked Scott's pocket. He pulled out Scott's inhaler and waved it in front of Scott's face until he took it.

"That wasn't coaching, dude, he's listening to your lungs. Scott has asthma," Stiles explained to Derek while Scott took a puff. "He doesn't let it get him down, though. He made first line this year and everything."

Stiles tilted his cast and pointed significantly to the #11 next to Scott's name. Derek licked Stiles's sweaty elbow-pit--Stiles jerked back with a startled laugh--and then Derek nosed at the cast again.

"What?" Stiles said, and then, when he saw exactly where Derek was pressing his nose, "Oh, that's Allison."

"Allison!" Scott echoed, sounding suddenly kind of panicked.

Stiles looked quickly around the road, expecting her to pop out of the trees, or out of Scott's car. There was no sign of her, though, and when Stiles looked down at Derek he wasn't growling like there was someone else around.

"What about Allison?" Stiles asked. "Were you supposed to call her or something?"

Scott shook his head. "No, I'm--she thought it should just be you and me tonight?"

Stiles nodded cautiously. "Okay. So no Allison problems right now then."

"But what am I going to tell her?" Scott demanded. "Am I supposed to tell her you're hanging out with a--"

Scott didn't even get to say the word werewolf before Derek growled, snapping casually at Scott's throat. Scott straightened up in a hurry, yanking his arms in against his chest.

"No," Stiles said, mostly unnecessarily except that Scott was incredibly bad at subtext and sometimes needed these things spelled out.

"You can't tell anyone about Derek, especially not Allison. If you tell her then she has to lie to her dad, and that's the bestcase. Probably she'd think you were crazy or lying, okay? I mean, you had a hard time believing me and you've met Derek."

Scott gave Derek a dubious look and said, "I still don't--"

Derek flashed his eyes red and upped the growl to something that sounded like it ran on diesel.

Stiles stepped between them, shoving Derek aside with his hip, so he could look Scott straight in the eye. "Scott, look. The easiest thing to get someone to believe is the thing they already want to believe, okay? So all you have to do is tell Allison exactly what she expects you to tell her about following me into the woods."

Scott's face crumpled into a pathetic expression of confusion. "But how do I know what she expects?"

Stiles threw his hands up. "You talked to her, right? If she said she thought tonight should be just you and me, that means you told her you were coming after me, right? Because I was going off into the woods by myself all the time?"

Scott's face relaxed into the expression he usually got when he trusted Stiles to explain something to him. He nodded.

"So..." This should be easy; he already knew that Scott could recite almost every word Allison said to him on any given day as well as saving every single text they exchanged, which on any given day could be dozens.

Scott went back to looking puzzled.

"So what did she say?" Stiles demanded.

Scott threw up his hands this time. "She didn't! She kept sort of starting to say something and then she would just say, like, 'Oh, it's obvious what Stiles is upset about,' and then she would look sad! So I just said yeah, but I don't know what that means."

Stiles looked down at Derek, because he needed to know if someone else was hearing this. Derek looked back at him, shook his head slightly, and then turned and walked away into the trees, like he wasn't even willing to be part of this conversation anymore.

Stiles looked back to Scott, who was frowning after Derek.

"Scott. Allison thinks I'm upset about her. The whole you-and-her thing. That's why she's sad about it."

Scott stayed puzzled for about five seconds and then looked like he couldn't decide between embarrassment and outrage, mouth hanging open while his face went back and forth.

Stiles shook his head. "Not like that, dude. I don't want to be dating Allison. Or you. But you were, you know--we've been best friends since we were eight years old, okay, so for half my life I kind of had you all to myself, right? No one else wanted anything to do with either of us, but we had each other. But now you've got Allison, and you made first line, and Lydia Martin talks about you like you aren't something she found on the bottom of her shoe. I'm the weird kid who got lost in the woods for two days and can't play spring sports and thinks peyote is something you make into brownies."

Scott tilted his head, frowning. "What's peyote--"

"Oh my God, not the point," Stiles yelled, startling himself into silence as much as Scott. He took a breath and rubbed his eyes.

"The point is, if you don't know that I have the coolest secret magical wolf friend ever, my life looks pretty sad right now. Allison thinks that I'm bummed out because you spend all your time either hanging out with her or playing lacrosse, so I'm going off to be lonely and depressed and vaguely self-destructive in the woods. So you tell her you followed me, you found me sitting down by the river, and we had a whole long talk about feelings and how I feel bad about being kind of jealous of you having a girlfriend and being on the team and everything, because I'm happy for you but it sucks for me, and now we're okay and you're going to make an effort to hang out with me more."

Scott looked worried to the point of actually being in pain. "Do we actually need to talk about that stuff?"

"No," Stiles said firmly. "Never."

Scott nodded. "But I really am going to hang out more. Just," he glanced into the trees, where Derek had disappeared. "Maybe not in the woods."

Stiles shrugged. "Derek will calm down, dude. He grows on you."

"But he's--he's yours," Scott said. "Like--I mean, I want to, you know, be alone with Allison sometimes and--"

Scott's face went straight to horror with no intervening steps when he realized what he was implying, and Stiles laughed. He knew he was laughing too hard, too long, but it was so horribly close to the tense little knot of worry in his chest, the fear that Derek wouldn't forgive him if he knew, tied up with the guilty but persistent hope that Derek already knew and it could be all right.

"Yeah," Stiles finally gasped. "Yeah, okay, Derek is my friend and not yours. But, I mean--you'd hate it if Allison and I didn't like each other, right? That's why Allison was sad when you were talking, because she was worried that you would feel like you had to choose. I want you and Derek to like each other, too. Or at least be able to hang out without all the growling and glaring and everything. Okay?"

"He's really scary," Scott said, the words bursting out of him like he'd been holding them back for the last hour. "He's a wolf, Stiles. I mean, I have handled some huge dogs at the vet clinic, but even if they're being bad you can tell they're tame."

Stiles opened his mouth to argue--Derek wasn't an animal, wild or tame wasn't how you talked about people--but Scott got a stubborn look and kept going.

"But I can see you're not scared of him, and he saved your life, so--if you like him, then, okay. He's your friend, and I won't say anything to anybody."

Stiles remembered being eight and already knowing he was the weird kid who talked and fidgeted too much, asked too many questions, knew too many things. He remembered the simple, definite way Scott had said, "I like you," and never wavered from it in the eight years since. Stiles lunged forward to hug him, nearly tackling Scott to the ground, and Scott laughed and held on.

"I really like him," Stiles muttered, and it shouldn't have felt like a confession.

"Well, I guess somebody has to," Scott said, and then let go of Stiles to edge toward his car. "You're spending the night at my house, right?"

It wasn't really a question, Stiles knew. He nodded. "I'm just gonna say bye to Derek and go get my car out of the weeds. I'll be right behind you."

Scott nodded and got into his car; when he started it up Stiles looked around for Derek and realized the light was starting to fail. "Derek?"

There was a flash of red and a sound of motion in the trees, and Stiles waved toward Scott and stepped off the road. Derek came out far enough to herd him into the trees, and they both stood still until Scott pulled away.

Derek turned away, trotting off purposefully, and Stiles sighed and followed him. "Derek? Are you not speaking to me?"

Derek snorted and stopped, letting Stiles catch up. This time he moved at a walk, staying directly at Stiles's side until they reached the place where the Jeep was hidden.

"Oh, right. Thanks."

Stiles turned to lean against the Jeep as he reached into his pocket for his keys, and Derek suddenly, for the first time ever, jumped up on his hind legs, dropping his front paws heavily onto Stiles's shoulders. They were eye to eye like this, and Derek's gaze held Stiles perfectly still as much as Derek's weight.

Derek growled, very softly, and tilted his head.

"You're... not happy with me," Stiles interpreted.

Derek nodded.

"About Scott," Stiles added, because that wasn't a very big guess. Even as Derek nodded again, Stiles realized how it might look.

"Dude, I didn't--you know I didn't tell him to follow me," Stiles said, keeping his eyes steady on Derek's and bringing his hands up to Derek's shoulders. If Derek was such a good cold reader, he'd know Stiles was telling the truth.

"I didn't hint, nothing--I had no idea he would do this. I figured him out right away because we've known each other half our lives, but Derek, I swear, I had no idea he would follow me. I would never tell anyone about you, and if I wanted Scott to know I wouldn't have just sprung it on both of you like this."

Derek huffed, nodded again, and dropped down onto all fours. Stiles followed him down, falling to his knees and reaching for Derek, pushing his face against Derek's. Derek sighed but rubbed his cheek firmly against Stiles's before he nudged Stiles back up to his feet and pushed him toward the driver's door.

* * *

That night Stiles dreamed of Derek standing next to Scott's bed, wolf-shaped as he had been the last time Stiles slept over at Scott's. He had his ears pricked forward and his tail sticking straight out behind him as he glared red-eyed across Stiles to Scott.

"Oh, don't you even," Stiles whispered, wondering whether Derek being jealous too made this more or less likely to be a figment of his deranged imagination. "You can share."

Derek closed his teeth in the sleeve of Stiles's t-shirt and tugged, trying to pull Stiles out of the bed. Stiles shook his head and shoved Derek's nose away.

"No," he whispered, nearly loud enough not to be a whisper at all. "I am not sleeping anywhere but in this nice comfy bed. You fit just fine when you wanted to last week. It is not my problem if you don't want to sleep in Scott's bed."

Derek huffed and put his muzzle on top of Stiles's right hand where it rested flat on the bed. He sat down on the floor and leaned against the side of the bed, keeping Stiles's hand trapped under his jaw.

"Weirdo," Stiles muttered, but he closed his eyes and got comfortable. He was perfectly happy to let Derek hold his hand all night, and they both knew it.

* * *

Saturday's lacrosse game was at home, but Allison texted and asked him for a ride. When Stiles picked her up she gave him a sad, cautious smile, and Stiles figured that that meant Scott had told her about their imaginary talk. He gave her an uncertain smile back.

"Hey," Stiles said carefully, and realized abruptly that he really, seriously cared about not making her sad. She was Scott's girlfriend, but she was something to Stiles, too. He wasn't sure Allison was actually his friend, but she was definitely important. He didn't want her to feel unsure around him, because of him.

"Um, did Scott talk to you? I'm sorry if I..."

He waved his hand. There was no way to end that sentence, and the trailing off would cover a lot of what Scott might have--ought to have--said.

Allison nodded quickly, her tentative smile stretching a little wider at the mention of Scott. "Yeah, we had kind of a long talk about it. I'm sorry if that's weird. But I guess he probably talks to you about me, too."

"You are his very favorite topic," Stiles agreed, and Allison's smile went rigid for a second.

Stiles winced. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like--it's fine, I'm happy for you guys, I really am."

Allison shook her head. "It's okay. I get it, don't worry about it."

Stiles focused on driving for a few minutes, but when he looked over Allison was staring a little too fixedly out the window.

"Hey," Stiles said. "Hey, Allison, what--"

Allison shook her head, but she sniffed quietly as she turned to face him, and her smile was completely fake.

"Anyway, you might not have to share him with me much longer," she said, her voice brittle and almost angry.

"What," Stiles said blankly, staring. "You're--tell me you're not breaking up with him over this, please, because he's--"

Allison shook her head quickly and turned to look out the window again.

"I just--my parents haven't said anything, but I think we're going to move again soon. There are all these little things they do. I can tell when it's coming."

Stiles faced front, trying to think of what to say. On the one hand, Scott would be wrecked if Allison left. On the other hand Mr. Argent leaving town would probably reduce the odds of Derek actually literally dying.

Allison made a little despairing noise--not quite one of Derek's whines, something closer to a sob--and Stiles looked over to see her hiding her face with her hands.

"No!" Stiles said quickly, feeling a stab of panic at the thought of making her cry. "Allison, no, sorry, I just--that's awful! That's the worst."

Allison shook her head and didn't uncover her face. "It's fine, it would be easier for you if I wasn't around. I get it."

She definitely sounded close to tears now, and Stiles was really, really glad that he knew all the streets between here and the high school well enough to drive without really looking where he was going. He put one hand on Allison's shoulder, squeezing tentatively.

"Allison, come on, seriously, if you move away I won't actually get any more time with Scott. He'll still be just as glued to his phone and Skype as he is now, and he'll be sneaking off to meet you somewhere every weekend."

Allison snorted, but at least she looked up, running her knuckles across her cheeks in quick, angry-looking motions. "Long distance never works, everyone knows that. I knew better than to date anyone--they promised we wouldn't move more than once a semester anymore, but I should have known--I just--Scott is..."

"Hey, I know," Stiles said, taking his hand from her shoulder to wave that away. "Scott's the best friend I've ever had. He's practically the only friend I've ever had who wasn't just somebody I hung out with because we were in the same grade, okay? I know how hard he is to resist, although in my case I mean that in purely platonic, fraternal kinds of ways."

Allison smiled for a second, and then looked away again, shaking her head. "He deserves a girlfriend who's actually here, he shouldn't--it wouldn't be fair to ask him to wait, and he probably--he's on first line, girls will..."

"Allison, seriously, are we talking about the same Scott McCall? He's a one-girl guy. If you lost him on a vacation in the Smoky Mountains he would turn up on your doorstep two weeks later wagging his tail and all footsore and skinny and smelling kind of gross because he's been eating out of rest stop trash cans--"

Allison actually laughed at that and Stiles grinned. "Okay, yeah, that metaphor got away from me. But don't write him off just because you might be going away, okay? And, seriously, if you ever actually want to break up with him, tell me, because you're going to need a restraining order and I can get the paperwork from my dad."

"I don't," Allison said. "I don't want to break up with him. I don't want to move away! I just--God, I just want to be a normal teenage girl having a normal life in one place for a while."

Stiles nodded vigorously because, oh, man, normal would be nice right now. Not so nice that he'd trade Derek for it, but nice. He tried to imagine for a second what he would do if his dad shipped him off to live with his mom's cousins in Portland or something to keep him out of the way, but it was too horrible to contemplate.

"Maybe you will," Stiles said, trying to crowd out the awful thought. "Maybe it won't happen--maybe you're just freaking out because you want to stay so much. Did they say something?"

Allison shook her head, pressing her knuckles against her mouth like she wanted to bite her nails. "Nothing direct. I actually just--I talked to my aunt today, my dad's sister. He was our age when she was born, and my grandma died when Kate was just a baby, so my dad practically raised her--it's more like Kate and I are sisters. Kate always comes to visit if we're going to be staying somewhere for a while. When I was in fifth grade we lived for a whole year in Lawrence, and Kate came and stayed for almost a month. But today she said she can't come visit anytime soon. She says she's busy with work."

"Correlation doesn't actually..."

Allison rolled her eyes and looked away.

"Sorry, sorry. They're your family, you're the expert. But... maybe it's nothing, right?" Stiles gave her a hopeful look. "Maybe it really is just work, and she'll come visit when she's done with whatever."

"Maybe," Allison said dubiously, as they pulled into the school parking lot. She pulled a tiny mirror out of her bag and examined her makeup before she got out of the car, dabbing around her eyes with the backs of her fingers, although Stiles couldn't really tell the difference.

She gave him a sudden bright smile as she put the mirror away. "You won't tell Scott, right? I don't want him to freak out."

"Sure," Stiles said, smiling helplessly back. What was one more secret?

* * *

Scott had to work the early animal-feeding shift at the vet clinic on Sunday, but afterward he went out to the woods with Stiles. They took lacrosse sticks and a few balls and played catch--Stiles cradling and throwing mostly one-handed, although using just the fingertips of his left hand to steady the stick wasn't bad. After a while Derek either got bored or noticed that Stiles's arms were getting tired; he snatched the lacrosse ball out of midair and ran away with it. Scott and Stiles chased him for a while, using their sticks to extend their reach, but Derek dodged them easily, leading them down to the river to sit on the rocks.

Derek placed himself pointedly between Stiles and Scott, and Stiles just rolled his eyes and settled his cast on Derek's back. He skritched the fur between his shoulders while he and Scott talked about Finstock's precise brand of crazy and how it applied to their Econ homework, and then moved on to Harris and exactly why he hated Stiles so much.

Derek stood up suddenly, moving to Stiles's other side and curling around him, his head and one leg across Stiles's lap. Stiles frowned down at him and then looked over at Scott and saw that he'd frozen with one hand in the air over the spot where Derek had been.

"What the fuck, dude?" Stiles demanded.

Scott yanked his hand out of the air and shoved it into his lap, leaning forward slightly like he could hide the fact that he had hands at all. "I just thought..."

"He's not a dog, Scott," Stiles snapped.

"You pet him!" Scott snapped back. "You're petting him right now."

Stiles opened his mouth to yell and then looked down and realized that, yeah, his right hand was snuggled into the fur at Derek's shoulder. Derek looked kind of amused, and then he closed his eyes and turned his head toward the river. Stiles decided that moving his hand was admitting some kind of defeat. Plus, Derek was lying halfway across Stiles's lap and obviously he didn't intend to move.

"I'm Derek's friend," Stiles snapped, even as some deeply unhelpful part of his brain pointed out that he really didn't touch Scott anywhere close to as much as he touched Derek and maybe friend wasn't the word he wanted. "He doesn't mind it from me. It's not the same from you!"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"Dude!" Stiles couldn't let this go. "I'm serious, you can't just do whatever you see me do! I don't try to make out with Allison just because I've seen you do it!"

Scott opened his mouth to yell back and stopped, giving Stiles plenty of time to think about what he'd just said and wonder which thing he least wanted Scott to latch onto there. To say nothing of Derek, who was keeping perfectly still. Stiles could barely even feel him breathing.

The silence went on for a while; Scott shut his mouth and looked out at the river, frowning. Stiles looked up at the sky because he really, really couldn't look down at Derek, although he knew he should apologize for talking about him like he wasn't right there, among a lot of other things. He tried desperately to think of something to say and all he could think of was Allison with her hand pressed against her lips like she was holding something back. All of his secrets hovered in his mouth, too many to breathe through, too many to swallow.

He said, "Speaking of Allison--" at the same time Scott said, "Anyway, I--" and they both stopped.

"What," Scott said, instantly focused. "What about Allison?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." Stiles shook his head, squinting out over the river, bouncing his heels off the bank.

"It's never nothing with you, and now it's Allison," Scott insisted. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Stiles lied, knowing he wouldn't have fooled anyone but Scott, but unable to keep from trying to do something for someone in the whole stupid tangled mess of his life. "She just--when we were at the game last night, she seemed bummed out about something, that's all. She was having fun watching you and everything, but whenever she wasn't cheering she just--she seemed sad. I think something's going on."

Scott looked instantly horrified. "Do you think I did something? Oh, no, what did I do, Stiles? How do I fix it?"

Stiles couldn't help looking down at Derek, who just huffed and tilted his head from side to side without looking up at Stiles.

"I don't think it's you, man," Stiles said. "Like I said, she was happy to be watching you. It's probably something else. It just seemed like she could use some cheering up. You should do something nice for her."

Given a new direction to panic in, Scott didn't ask him anything else about what Allison was sad about or how he knew. They sat and debated the exact parameters of "something nice" and when Scott might be able to pull it off until Derek bullied them both back to their cars.

* * *

His dad was still working day shifts and Scott had lacrosse practice after school, so Stiles had Derek all to himself for a few days. They ate Oreos and went running in the woods, rain or shine. Derek chose a different route each day; Stiles never had a chance to get bored.

In the hour or two they spent together each day Stiles never ran out of things to talk about that weren't the fact that he was jerking off twice a day and spending half his classes willing away inconvenient hard-ons because Derek was human in his bed every night, with the arms and the stubble and the spooning up silently behind him. He thought he was even doing a pretty good job of not staring creepily at Derek's face, trying to picture him human.

Waking up hurt less every day, in the strictly physical sense. His wrist was healing and his bruises were fading, although the phone bruise on his hip was still a pretty spectacular array of colors. But waking up meant the dream of Derek going away, and that felt worse every time it happened.

On Thursday his phone started vibrating thirty seconds after the bell rang for the end of math. He looked around the room as he dug out his phone--Scott was right there, and he'd just seen Allison--and then he saw it was his dad. He had to steady himself against his desk with one hand as he hit the answer button with the other.

"I'm okay," his dad said first, and Stiles exhaled harshly, grabbing his bag and hurrying out into the hallway without looking around for Scott.

"Don't do that, you scared the hell out of me," Stiles said. "What's going on, did something--"

"I'm fine, Stiles," his dad repeated. "Rodriguez's kids have the stomach flu and I think it's in everybody's best interest if he stays home tonight, but it means I work the overnight for him."

"Oh," Stiles said. This used to be routine, text message or note-on-the-fridge stuff, but his dad hadn't worked a weeknight shift since Stiles's adventure in the woods. "Yeah, okay. I'll be fine."

"You'll be home," his dad said firmly. "I'll stop by around ten and you will be at home in bed."

"That's--ten, seriously? I have a lot of homework tonight, I might be--"

"At home," his dad repeated. "In bed."

"Fine, yes, okay, I'll see you at ten," Stiles said, doing his best imitation of giving in reluctantly at the same time he was thinking of all the hours with Derek he could fit in between the last bell of the day and the last minute before he had to leave to get home at 9:59.

* * *

Stiles dragged a shopping bag out of the Jeep with him and said, "So, hey, is there anywhere safe to have a tiny, totally controlled campfire?"

Derek looked skeptical, but Stiles waved the marshmallows at him and Derek sighed and turned away, trotting into the trees and leaving Stiles to follow him. They headed toward the river, but pretty soon they started going uphill where Derek had always led him down before.

They reached level ground again pretty quickly, but the trees started to thin out. Stiles could see the sky up ahead, so he knew that they were heading toward the area where the river cut a ravine through the woods. Stiles had only seen it from the bottom, on a Cub Scout canoe trip that had subsequently included him and Scott clinging to an overturned canoe.

He also remembered that the cliffs had seemed to go up forever, and he hung back from the edge, keeping Derek between him and it. Derek looked up at him and bared his teeth, touching them to Stiles's belt.

"Oh, you'll catch me, huh?" Stiles grinned.

Derek huffed agreeably and led him onward. Stiles took the precaution of sliding his fingers into Derek's fur.

He looked everywhere but over the edge as they walked along, keeping an eye out for a good rocky patch of ground, maybe a little way back from the edge. Then Derek stopped sharply, turning his head against Stiles's thigh so he would stop too. Stiles looked down at him and then looked at the ground ahead of them. He realized that he'd been acting like he did when he ran with Derek in the woods, eyeing the scenery and letting Derek worry about the ground underfoot.

Not six feet away there was a crack in the ground ahead of them, extending from the edge almost all the way back to the trees.

When Derek started forward again Stiles stayed behind him, watching the gap in the ground like a snake that might jump up and bite him. He stopped when Derek suddenly dodged around him, but Derek just took the shopping bag from his hand. Derek trotted over to the crack, stepped over it at the narrow end like it was nothing, and then walked up to where it was wide enough that he'd have had to jump across. He turned and met Stiles's eyes and dropped the shopping bag.

Over the constant rushing of the river, Stiles barely heard the soft thump of the bag hitting bottom. He raised his eyebrows.

"So I guess we're going down there?"

Derek grinned and jerked his muzzle. Come here.

Stiles came over, stepping cautiously across the narrow end of the crack like Derek had, and walking down the other side. He knelt beside Derek to look down, putting a hand out to hold on to him again. He had a bad dizzy moment remembering that teetering moment before he'd fallen from the Hale house, but Derek was here and Derek wouldn't let him get hurt.

He could see the grocery bag at the bottom, white against the dark ground. They actually were about as high up as he'd been in the second floor of the Hale house.

Derek dropped down to his belly and scooted up to dangle one leg over the edge.

"What," Stiles said, but it wasn't like Derek was going to explain. Stiles lay down flat on the ground and reached out, putting his hand next to Derek's, extended to the opposite wall of the fissure. His fingers slid smoothly into an indentation in the rock.

Derek gave a low little bark, and opened his mouth in a grin.

"Are you saying--there are handholds? Like a climbing wall or something?"

Derek nodded.

Stiles grinned, and then looked over at his cast. "Uh, is this..."

Derek made a noise that could only be described as a scoff.

"Oh, it is on," Stiles said. "If you have to catch me I will say I told you so all the way down."

Derek replied by squirming away from him and sliding right over the edge. Stiles reached after him automatically, trying to catch him--did catch him, because Derek had stopped right there. He was barely an arm's length away, somehow holding himself up a couple of feet away from the handhold he'd shown Stiles. His head and tail stuck out at ground level, and Stiles had no idea what he was holding on to, but he was doing it.

Stiles sat up and swung his legs over the edge, feeling lower with one foot and then the other, until he had the first two footholds. He leaned forward and grabbed the edge on the other side, shifting his butt off the ground and putting his weight on his feet and one hand. He took another cautious step down, bringing his head level with Derek's, and then looked over and realized that Derek wasn't holding on to anything: he had his front feet and hind feet braced against opposite sides of the crack in the stone, holding himself between them. Past him Stiles could see the sky, and the tops of trees on the other side of the river.

Stiles stared for a second, torn between awesome view and Derek is magical and oh shit we could both plummet to our deaths.

Derek nudged Stiles's shoulder with his nose, and Stiles nodded and took another step down, hooking the fingers of his left hand into a notch at shoulder height. His wrist mostly didn't hurt anymore, but the cast made it hard to grip, so he couldn't really trust his weight to that hand. It was enough to help him balance, though, while he shifted his right hand down to the grip on that side, and then he shifted each of his feet in turn.

This really wasn't so bad--he'd climbed the rock wall in gym. Granted at school there were ropes and harnesses and mats on the floor and he wasn't allowed to do that with one broken wrist, but he had Derek spotting him, which had to be better than being supervised by Finstock.

He got into a rhythm, easing himself down, and Derek kept making little encouraging growly noises beside him. Then Stiles stuck his foot out and found nothing, no notch, not even smooth stone, just empty space.

He yelped, startled, and then there was a soft thump beside and below him--and a totally ordinary crinkle of plastic--and Derek barked. Stiles looked down for the first time, and realized that Derek was standing on the ground, his head level with Stiles's shin.

Stiles kicked his other foot free, dropping down to dangle from his hands. He barely had time to realize that his broken wrist didn't hurt much at all before he let go and slid the last couple of feet down to the ground. He landed softer than he expected to--it was sandy dirt underfoot, not rock.

They were standing on a little slice of beach that was basically a cave--the crack in the cliff widened out, and the opposite wall sloped away, making a roofed space half the size of Stiles's bedroom. There was a little firepit there, with some flat rocks and chunks of wood arranged like seats around it. There was old charred wood still in the center, but there were waist-high tiny trees growing up out of it, brown dead leaves still clinging to their branches. There hadn't been a fire here in a long time.

Derek had walked down the little slope to the edge of the river, and Stiles followed him. The river was mostly screened by reeds and something that couldn't decide if it was a bush or a tree, which would explain why people weren't constantly tying up their canoes here and hanging out. Stiles would totally have tipped the canoe that much earlier trying to get a better look at a cool hideout like this. Derek sniffed along the water's edge, and circled the firepit, sniffing each of the seats, while Stiles stood and watched him. Then Derek looked up, so Stiles looked up too.

The rock that roofed the little space was blackened in a wide swathe where smoke had gathered. Stiles squinted at it, studying the vague patterns, and then all of a sudden Derek was there, clinging to nothing that Stiles could see, just dangling upside down off the rock.

"What," Stiles said, mouth hanging open as he watched Derek look around at the rock he was hanging from.

Derek did some kind of full-body pull-up, pressing himself flat against the stone, wriggled, and dropped. He twisted in mid-air, landing on his feet like a cat, and trotted over to Stiles, making an up, up gesture with his muzzle.

"Uh, no," Stiles said, staring wide-eyed at Derek.

That had been more magical and impossible than anything else he'd ever seen Derek do. Sure, a wolf who was also a person was magic, but apparently the person Derek also was was Spider-Man.

"No magical werewolf acrobatics from me, dude, I can barely handle the climbing wall."

Derek huffed and pointedly turned his head to look where he'd just been. Stiles followed his gaze automatically.

There was a cleared patch in the soot now, wiped clean by Derek's fur, and visible in the middle of it was a word. Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket as he moved to stand right under it, holding up the light.

DEREK.

The curves of the D and the R were jagged, coming to points, like they had been scratched into the rock with more power than precision. Stiles realized that the reason he could see the carving so well now was that the scratches had filled with soot, still visible when Derek wiped the surface layer away to show the lighter stone beneath.

Stiles looked down and found Derek looking up at him, grinning open-mouthed and looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

"That's you," Stiles said. "You--you knew right where it was, and it's been covered up with smoke for years, so you couldn't have done it since I met you."

Derek tilted his head.

"You really are Derek Hale," Stiles explained, and he dropped a little too fast to sit on one of the rocks by the firepit. "You--this is the first time you could ever tell me your name, instead of just sort of agreeing when I called you that. You really are, though, you're really Derek Hale. For real, like--concrete evidence. I cannot possibly be making this up now. You're Derek Hale, and you're a werewolf, and you brought me to your secret beach cave hideout so you could tell me your name."

Derek huffed and shook his head and trotted away, leaving Stiles in the midst of his adrenaline rush or minor nervous breakdown--they could quibble about definitions when Derek wasn't abandoning him. There was a rustle of plastic and Derek came back, dropping the shopping bag at his feet.

Stiles laughed. "Right! Yeah, what was I thinking, you're a werewolf and you brought me to your secret beach cave hideout because it's the best place to make s'mores. Got it."

Derek bounced away again, coming back with some broken-off tree-bush branches to use for skewers and dropping them on top of the shopping bag.

"Okay, right," Stiles said, shaking his head to try to get rid of the weird feeling of his head cracking open and too much stuff pouring in all at once. "Right. I guess first we need a fire."

He uprooted the little saplings from the firepit and set fire to them with the lighter he'd swiped from one of the smokers' hangouts at school, adding some broken-off twigs and leaves stripped from the marshmallow sticks. When there were a few tiny flames going he belatedly looked around to see if there was anything to burn other than the big, unwieldy chunks of wood that served as seats. There was a neat stack of firewood piled up along the back wall; Stiles got up and piled a few logs into his arm and came back to the little flickering almost-fire, which Derek was watching just as intently as he'd watched the blue flame of the Sterno can the first time Stiles had made s'mores with him.

Stiles eased a log in among the charred lumps and the tiny flames, breaking off pieces of bark to light and strategically spread the fire around. He scorched his fingers a couple of times, but the fire was mesmerizing and Stiles barely noticed. By the time he made sure the first log had caught and added another, his brain had quieted down and it didn't seem so earthshattering anymore that Derek was exactly who Stiles had thought he was.

Stiles settled back onto a rock and brushed off the knees of his jeans. Derek took his eyes off the fire just long enough to bring Stiles the grocery bag and the stripped sticks.

"Yeah, okay, but we have to eat some actual food first," Stiles insisted, pulling out the package of hot dogs. "Look, I brought condiments and everything. No buns, you seemed kind of anti-carbs."

As it turned out, Derek preferred his hot dogs raw, and made little disgusted noises while Stiles ate his blackened with packets of ketchup and mustard squeezed over them.

Derek also worried at a packet of pickle relish until Stiles ripped it open for him. "Dude, you do not even get to criticize if you're eating that."

Derek just stuck out his tongue--still half-covered in little green bits--and Stiles stuck his out right back.

When they'd demolished the hot dogs and assorted condiment packets, Stiles sat back for a while, listening to the river outside. The fire hissed and snapped. Derek, lying beside him, watched it like he was going to start a fight with it at any second. It was nice here, hidden and quiet and peaceful.

Stiles lasted about two minutes and then he poked Derek. "My ass is going numb."

Derek snapped at his poking hand, but then stood up and trotted down to the river again. Stiles followed him, looking back to keep an eye on the fire when he noticed that Derek wasn't. Derek looked around, circling the space without stopping to sniff anything; Stiles realized he was thinking and kept quiet.

Finally Derek stopped by the woodpile and made another up, up motion. Stiles walked over next to him and pulled his phone out again, noticing that it was almost totally dark back here now. He held the phone up, shining the light on the wall up above his head. Derek jumped up and smacked his paw next to a series of scratches that Stiles recognized in the next second as a name. LAURA.

The U was almost a V, but her R was a little more curved than Derek's. Stiles tilted his phone back and forth, looking, because where there were two...

The next one he saw was PETER, which made his heart thump strangely in his chest. But there were other names too, names he knew from their shared gravestone: both of Derek's parents, and one of his aunts. It took him a minute to realize that EUGIE--with an awkward, angular G and a U that looked just like Laura's--was short for Eugenia. Grandma Hale.

Stiles looked back at the fire, and now he saw the eight seats around it. This hadn't just been Derek's hideout, or Derek and Laura's. This had been his family's place for generations.

Stiles looked back up at the wall, and then backed up and shone his phone on the ceiling near Derek's name. There were a few names scratched into the stone that he didn't recognize, but there were names missing, too.

"Derek," Stiles said, without looking down at him, because he wasn't sure he was allowed to ask. "What about Heather and Mark? Why aren't they here?"

Derek didn't make a sound, just tugged on Stiles's shirt. Stiles lowered the phone and let Derek tug him back out to the crack where he'd climbed down. The wall he'd come down curved in a little bit too, right at the bottom, which was why the steps didn't go all the way to the ground. The space it covered was small, though, a kid's hidey-hole. Even Derek couldn't stand upright in it. But he dropped to his belly and crawled in, so Stiles got down and followed him.

Derek rolled onto his back and Stiles followed suit, holding up his phone again to light the stone overhead.

Heather was written neatly on the stone in purple marker. Mark was in green. Their parents were there, too--Thomas in black, printed with the same childish carefulness, Angela in blue, an adult scrawl. There were a few other names, too, but not as many as on the other side.

Stiles reached up to touch the names, and Derek squirmed over and touched his nose to Stiles's fingertips. He wasn't pushing him away or telling him to stop, he was...

Stiles drew back his hand and Derek tapped his nose against the ends of Stiles's fingertips, then touched the spot where Heather had written her name--written, not scratched.

"They didn't have claws," Stiles realized. "They weren't werewolves, is that it? Some of the people in your family were just regular people?"

Derek nodded.

Stiles stared at the marker and wondered how old Heather and Mark had been when they were sure they'd never be able to carve their names into stone with their own hands and did this instead. He'd always had them in his head as Big Kids, older than him, but neither of them had lived to go to high school.

I wonder if she knew she was killing regular kids, he thought.

It was only then that he realized he'd had it in his head for a while now that the mysterious woman from out of town who'd arranged the Hale fire might have done it because she found out that they were werewolves. For a second he was excited--he'd figured out motive, he had to tell his dad, that could help narrow down who the woman was--and then he realized that of course he couldn't tell his dad that. He couldn't tell his dad about Derek, or about the rest of the Hales, even if there was any chance his dad would believe him.

Derek made a little whining noise, nudging him like he could tell Stiles was upset about something. Stiles looked over at him, heart sinking lower. He couldn't tell Derek, either.

Even if he hadn't promised his dad he wouldn't say anything about the reopened investigation, he couldn't say any of that to Derek. He couldn't tell him that the supposedly accidental fire that killed his whole family might have been not only murder but genocide. Derek didn't need more reasons not to trust humans, and it might not be true, anyway. Even if it was, there was no reason to upset Derek with it before they knew for sure, when there wasn't anything Derek could do. Even if he remembered some suspicious woman from six years ago, it wasn't like he could give a description or pick her out of a police lineup.

Stiles looked back up at the writing on the ceiling and swallowed all his secrets, trying to get his breathing under control.

"This is--this is a big deal, isn't it," he said, because he had to say something. He ran his fingers over the names. "You bringing me here, I mean. This place was just for your family, wasn't it?"

Derek crawled half on top of him to press his face to Stiles's, rubbing their cheeks together in the way that Stiles was beginning to understand. Because this place was for Derek's family, and he'd brought Stiles here. Stiles wasn't just some kid Derek hung out with because he refused to go away.

Stiles hooked his arm around Derek's neck and said, quietly, "I could bring a marker next time, if that's okay with you. I could put my name up here."

Derek didn't respond at all for a few seconds, long enough for Stiles to replay everything that had just happened and try to figure out how he'd gotten it wrong. Then Derek pushed even closer, laying down half on top of him, his head tucked close against Stiles's. Stiles put both arms around him and ignored the cold, damp sand under him. His ass could go as numb as it wanted, this time.

The screen of his phone went dark, leaving them in the gloomy darkness of late afternoon. The fire was still hissing away, and Stiles could see the light of it jumping on the stone wall across from him, but Derek blocked his view of the fire itself. Stiles closed his eyes, settling in, taking slow breaths and resisting the urge to fidget. It was easier with Derek planted on his chest.

Derek growled suddenly, a low ominous rumble Stiles could feel vibrating in his own ribs. He opened his eyes and pushed up on his elbows as Derek lifted off him. Derek's eyes were glowing red and his hackles were up. He backed out of the hidey-hole and stood looking up. Stiles scrambled out after him and looked up too, although there was nothing he could see; it was getting close to dark even up on top of the cliff.

Derek huffed and moved toward Stiles, nudging his arm. It took Stiles a few seconds to realize that Derek was specifically tapping against the outside of his cast.

"Scott's up there?"

Derek nodded and then wagged his head as he made a low, plaintive howl, his whole body radiating annoyance that contradicted the sadness of the sound.

"Calling for us," Stiles translated.

Derek huffed and jabbed his nose into Stiles's belly.

"Calling for me," Stiles allowed. "Sorry, Derek. I haven't hung out with him in a few days, I guess he figured he'd come say hi after lacrosse practice. He must have realized my dad was working late tonight."

Derek tilted his head, giving Stiles a sharp look.

"Oh," Stiles said. "Uh, yeah, so my dad's working late tonight, so I was going to hang out for a couple more hours, that's why..." Stiles waved toward the fire and the s'mores they hadn't gotten to make yet.

"We can go up, I'll put out the fire--or I can go tell Scott it's not a good time, or--"

Derek huffed, shaking his head. He nudged Stiles toward the fire, and then tapped one forefoot pointedly on the ground in front of himself and gestured, up.

"You're going to--dude, you don't have to bring him down here just because he showed up in the woods, I know you don't like him that much."

I want to be the only one, Stiles didn't say. I want this to be just mine, I want you to be just mine.

But Derek huffed and shook his head and pushed Stiles toward the fire again, and before Stiles could argue any further, he made an impossible leap upward and vanished.

Stiles went and sat by the fire, adding another log and watching the sparks fly up. There wasn't much smoke; it would take a long time for Derek's name to be hidden again.

He stood up again once the fire was going well and went to stand looking up between the walls of rock. Pretty soon he heard Scott's voice calling his name, sounding worried.

"Scott," Stiles yelled back. "Is Derek being an asshole?"

There was a moment of silence--Stiles could picture them stopping dead in the trees to glare at each other--and then he heard Scott's running feet.

Stiles remembered what he hadn't seen from up there and his heart slammed into high gear. "Scott! Be careful, don't--"

Scott's face appeared above him, and Scott's windmilling arms, and then Scott was jerked backward.

"Tell Derek thank you," Stiles yelled. His brain felt like it was full of bees, buzzing and bright.

"Let me go," Scott snapped. "I see it now! I won't fall!"

"Tell him thank you," Stiles repeated, pressing a hand against his racing heart. He could see it with awful clarity, Scott falling, maybe slamming against stone on the way down, and the sick solid final thump at the end, his head bouncing...

Derek stuck his head out over the edge and barked once, sharply, and Stiles waved and nodded, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Derek was safe, Scott was safe, he was safe. Nothing bad had happened. No one had fallen.

"You can climb down," Stiles called up, when he tore his eyes away from Derek and realized that Scott was looking down at him, too. "It's just like the rock wall at school. Derek will spot you."

Scott looked over at Derek, and then looked down again. "Uh. Sorry. And thank you. And... please?"

Derek huffed and jumped down to do his bridge thing again, and Stiles watched Scott turn around and stick his legs over the edge. It was like holding his finger over a flame; when he couldn't take it anymore he went and sat down by the fire with his back to them and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

He breathed in and out, in and out, listening only to the sound of the fire. After a while Scott's hand was on his shoulder and Derek was nosing at his throat from the other side.

Stiles picked his head up, dropping his hands. "Hey, guys, you made it! Awesome, now it's a party."

"Stiles," Scott said, giving him a gentle shove.

Stiles looked up at him, conscious of Derek's steady, persistent presence on his other side. Scott was giving him the you're not fooling me look, which stung. But he couldn't actually fool Scott on much of anything when Scott decided to pay attention.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Scott said. "I didn't mean to freak you out like that. I heard you talking to your dad, and I figured you were going to try and stay out until the last second. I thought we'd better be able to say I was in the woods with you if your dad found out you were out here tonight. But if you want me to go, I'll go."

"Scott, no, I don't," Stiles said immediately, because he could feel the mean temptation to say yes, go, get out squirming in his chest. "God, you're making me feel like a bigger asshole than Derek."

Derek growled softly next to him, snapping his teeth next to Stiles's ear, and Stiles just flapped a hand at him. Scott still looked uncertain.

"Stay," Stiles repeated, more firmly. "We were gonna make s'mores. You can toast the marshmallows for Derek's, he likes them like you make them."

"Oh, can I?" Scott said, with a wry smile just like his mom's. "Lucky me."

But he was already going to dig the marshmallows out of the shopping bag and wipe off the sticks Stiles had left by the fire, so Stiles figured he'd gotten through that all right.

Derek nudged him, and when Stiles looked over Derek pressed his cheek against Stiles's. Stiles closed his eyes and leaned into it, saying lightly, "You really will like Scott's better, he's completely anal about marshmallows. Not like me."

Derek huffed and stepped back, and when Stiles looked over at Scott, he was staring steadily at the marshmallow he was holding above the fire. Stiles realized he was deliberately not looking.

He felt a weird twist of embarrassment even though there was nothing to be embarrassed about; he and Derek had basically just been hugging. Stiles moved around the fire to grab some marshmallows for himself. Derek moved around the fire in the opposite direction, sitting on the other side of Scott and watching the marshmallow he was toasting.

Scott had a steady-handed patience with this that Stiles was sort of impressed by at the same time that he found it totally unfathomable. While Scott carefully rotated a marshmallow above the flames to get it perfectly, impossibly light brown all over, Stiles stuck a couple of them on a stick and then waved them through the flames. They caught fire after a few seconds, and Stiles blew them out and then waved them around a little more before he started eating them.

Derek made a disapproving noise, and Scott said, "I know, right? Gross."

Stiles bared his marshmallow-y teeth at them both, and Derek snorted while Scott just shook his head and took his marshmallow away from the fire, offering it to Derek, who bit it delicately off the skewer.

"You guys aren't allowed to gang up on me," Stiles announced after he'd swallowed, and Scott just swatted his hand away from the marshmallows and took a couple more to toast. Derek, still licking marshmallow off his teeth, gave Stiles a skeptical look.

You're not allowed to like him better, Stiles thought, and it was stupid, but... everyone liked Scott better. Derek was supposed to be Stiles's.

Derek gave a short, sharp bark, and Stiles looked at him across the fire. Derek just huffed and shook his head again--no, you idiot--and Stiles ducked his head, smiling. He dug in the grocery bag for the graham crackers and chocolate, so he could have them ready before he made more marshmallows.

It got kind of easy, then. Scott and Stiles talked in little bursts between s'mores, catching each other up on stuff they hadn't talked about in the last few days--mostly Scott's alarmingly elaborate date plans for tomorrow night and cool places Stiles hadn't known existed in the woods until Derek made him run past them. Stiles's hands were in the air, sketching the shape of this awesome tree that grew halfway out into the river, when Scott suddenly started laughing and Derek got up and trotted around the fire to Stiles.

"What--" Stiles said, and Derek huffed in his ear and then licked the side of his head.

Scott laughed harder, waving at his own hair. "You have marshmallow..."

Stiles tried to shove Derek away, but Derek snapped his teeth loudly beside Stiles's ear and went back to licking the marshmallow out of Stiles's hair in hard, wet strokes.

Scott's laughter hitched as he folded down over his knees, shoulders shaking with the force of it, and Stiles said, "Scott, inhaler."

Scott nodded and waved his hand at Stiles, giggling wheezily and digging in his pocket.

Stiles gave Derek another shove. Derek stood his ground, but let it go after another lick or two. He walked around Stiles to cock his head in Scott's direction as Scott shook his inhaler and then took a huff between giggles.

Stiles ran his fingers over the licked-clean spot on the side of his head, wiped his hand dry on his pants, and then reached for a few more marshmallows. He decided to be calm and dignified and try just toasting them instead of setting them on fire, but before they even started to brown, he heard Scott shake his inhaler again. He looked up and watched Scott take another puff, and then looked over at Derek, who was sitting very still, staring at Scott intently.

"Scott?"

Scott pocketed his inhaler and shrugged. "No big. Happens sometimes."

Stiles's marshmallows burst into flame, making him jump, and he jerked them away from the fire and blew them out. His stomach turned at the thought of more sugar, though, and he snapped off the end of the stick and threw it into the fire, and then broke the stick into pieces, feeding them in one by one.

When he looked up, Scott was staring into the fire with a frown of concentration, mouth pressed tightly shut, nostrils flaring on every breath. Derek was still sitting like a statue, watching him, and Stiles had a feeling that that meant he could hear what was going on in Scott's lungs and it wasn't good.

"Scott," Stiles said, the sick feeling in his stomach going cold.

Scott shook his head. "I'm okay."

Even just those two words sounded breathless, though.

"Say the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog," Stiles said, as gently as he could when he wanted to scream.

Scott glared at him. "That's for. Typing."

But they both heard the break in just those few words, and they both knew Scott couldn't say a whole sentence without gasping for breath. That was one of the danger signs Stiles had been taught when he was eight, before Scott's mom would let Scott play at his house.

Scott looked away again, scowling into the fire. Stiles made himself take a deep breath, to remember that he could.

"Scott, I gotta at least call your mom, if not dispatch."

Scott shrugged stiffly without looking away from the fire. Derek stood up and took a couple of hesitant steps closer to Scott, and then sat down again with a little space still between them. Scott didn't look at Derek, either.

"Okay," Stiles said. "Okay, your mom first, we'll see what she says."

Stiles pulled his phone out and hit the power button, lighting up the screen. Even as he unlocked it his eyes went automatically to the battery meter which was, shit, less than half...

And he had no signal. Because he was in a fucking cave in a ravine in the middle of the preserve.

"Fuck," Stiles muttered, popping up to his feet and walking down to the river, holding his phone up and leaning out into the reeds. Nothing. He walked over between the rock walls, where he could see the sky, holding his phone up overhead. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

He tried dialing anyway, staring at Ms. McCall's dubious face and the little blinking dots that indicated the phone was trying to connect. She had never let Scott come out and play in the woods when they were kids; that was why Scott had never met Grandma Hale or any of the other Hales before the fire.

The screen went black. Call failed.

Derek barked, and Stiles went back over to the fire. Scott was leaning forward now, mouth open, and Stiles could hear him wheezing on every breath.

"Scott, slight problem, I have no bars. Lemme see your phone."

Scott shook his head. "Dead."

Stiles made a strangled noise totally beyond his own control, sort of a wail colliding with a growl.

Scott snorted. "Battery, Stiles."

"I know you mean the battery," Stiles snapped, "I just, Scott--can you try your inhaler again? Can you--we have to do something. This is bad."

"I know," Scott rasped, but he took his inhaler from his pocket and took another huff. He made a face, shaking his head and spitting. "Yuck. Tires."

Stiles gritted his teeth, letting only a deranged hum escape his mouth instead of Scott, no, don't say that, your last words can't be 'yuck, tires.' Because that was what was happening here: they were alone in the woods and Scott was having an asthma attack. If it didn't let up then Scott could die. Scott could die right in front of him.

"Okay, no," Stiles said, his voice coming out shaky--bad enough, apparently, to steal Derek's attention from Scott for a second, although he only turned his head.

Stiles shook his head and stood up. "I'm going to climb out and get to where I can call for help."

"No," Scott gasped, pushing up onto his feet. Stiles and Derek both lunged in to keep him from toppling over as his face went a horrible gray-beige like concrete, even in the warm light of the fire.

"Don't," Scott said, closing both hands in Stiles's shirt even as Stiles took half his weight. "Don't go."

"Scott, I'll be back in like, five, ten minutes tops--"

"Long enough," Scott said, and Stiles knew exactly what he meant. Long enough for Scott's breathing to stop completely. Long enough for Scott to asphyxiate.

"Derek will stay with you," Stiles tried desperately, glancing down at Derek, who was pressed up against their legs. "He's good at taking care of people, I'm good at calling for help. It's a logical division of labor."

"Don't leave me." Scott's voice was just a hollow whisper. "With a wolf."

Even with Scott clinging to him, even knowing exactly how scared Scott was, Stiles couldn't help saying, "He's not a wolf, he's Derek. He doesn't b--"

Stiles's teeth snapped together. It made a much duller sound than the click of Derek's teeth when he did that. He looked down at Derek, who looked up at him and then took a couple of deliberate steps away from Stiles and Scott and sat down.

"Is that," Stiles said to him, which was dumb, because of course he knew that, everyone knew that was how it worked. That was how werewolves worked. If anybody had asked Stiles anytime in the last three weeks he'd have said he knew that: if a werewolf bit you, you turned into a werewolf. He knew that about werewolves. He'd just somehow managed not to know that about Derek until right now.

"Derek, if you bit Scott--"

Scott flailed against him, rocking back briefly onto his own two feet before Stiles caught him and eased him down to sit. His whole face was contorted with horror as he looked back and forth between Stiles and Derek.

Derek backed up a few more steps, shaking his head, and he barked sharply.

"Okay, okay, you're not biting Scott," Stiles agreed, kneeling beside Scott, who was still clutching his shirt. "But, hypothetically, if you bit someone who was okay with it for whatever reason, would that turn them into a werewolf?"

Derek huffed and wagged his head back and forth.

"Maybe," Stiles translated. "So, what, either it works or it doesn't?"

Derek snapped his teeth, eyes flashing red, and then went down in a heap.

"That means dead," Scott whispered.

Derek stood up again and nodded.

"Oh," Stiles said, blinking, reshuffling the possibilities in his head. "Okay, so. Maybe dead, maybe a werewolf, but--if somebody was--if they were gonna--could it help? Is there a chance it could help?"

Derek huffed, seeming to slump a little, and tilted his head back and forth uncertainly.

So maybe. Maybe it could help, if someone was going to die anyway of something that a werewolf wouldn't suffer from--like, say, asthma.

"Scott," Stiles said, looking him in the eye. He looked less horrified now, but he was back to stubborn.

"No," Scott said--whispered. There was barely any breath behind it.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against Scott's cheek. "I don't know what else to do, dude. This is really bad, and I can't call for help, and even if I could they might not get here fast enough, because we are in the middle of fucking nowhere. And there's no way you can climb out like this, and I can't carry you and I don't think Derek can give you a piggyback ride when he's doing his Spider-man thing, so--we have to do something."

"No," Scott whispered again, pushing against Stiles's chest.

Stiles let Scott push him away, even though there wasn't enough force in Scott's arms to free him from a determined kitten. Stiles sat down exactly arm's length from Scott, and Derek came and pressed up close by his side, keeping Stiles between him and Scott like one of them needed to be protected from the other.

Scott looked away from them, but Stiles could see the quick shallow motion of his breaths.

He couldn't bully Scott into this, and he couldn't force Derek to do anything, so he was just going to have to talk them both around. Somehow. Stiles looked over at Derek, who seemed like the easier one to persuade right now. If Scott lost consciousness, if it was a last resort--he had to have Derek convinced, at least.

"Do you remember when I had that panic attack?" Stiles asked, glancing over at Derek and then fixing his gaze on Scott's hands, which flexed in and out of fists with every breath. "I thought you were going to bite me that time."

Derek nodded.

"You... you might have?" Stiles asked. Scott twitched at that. "You almost did?"

Derek nodded again, more emphatically.

"Almost. But you didn't," Stiles said. "Because I was okay? Because I really could breathe?"

Derek tilted his head back and forth and then moved in until he could tap his nose to Stiles's chest, and then drew back just enough for Stiles to see him shake his head.

Stiles stole a glance toward Scott, who looked paler than ever and had his face tilted away in that pretending not to listenway that Stiles had seen on him sometimes, back before his dad left. When he didn't want to hear what he was hearing but knew he had to know what was going down.

"Because I said no," Stiles translated, not bothering not to say it to Scott. "I didn't understand, though. What it would do."

Derek huffed and nodded.

Stiles looked back at Derek. "So you--you don't bite people who don't want it, or don't understand. But you would have? If I hadn't started breathing again, if I'd really..."

Derek nodded, and pressed his cheek to Stiles's.

"You wouldn't have let me die," Stiles said softly, hearing the ragged gasps of Scott's breath around his own words. "You would have done everything you could to save me."

Scott moved abruptly, folding down over his knees again. Stiles dropped onto his knees, shoving Scott half-upright. He looked paler, like he was fading into grayscale. He didn't try to speak, but he still met Stiles's eyes. He was conscious and he'd been listening. Stiles pulled his phone out and shone the light on Scott's face.

"Scott, your lips are blue, you're--Scott, fuck, please."

Scott looked scared now, all the stubbornness gone. He was panting now but he obviously wasn't getting much air.

"Please tell him it's okay, please. He's all we've got here. I don't know what else to do," Stiles whispered, feeling strangled himself.

Scott looked over at Derek, and his mouth moved around something that Stiles couldn't hear.

He realized then that Derek hadn't actually said yes to biting Scott even if Scott wanted him to, but when Stiles looked, Derek was walking over to them. He touched his muzzle to Scott's cheek and Scott nodded. Stiles adjusted his grip on Scott, scooting in closer to take Scott's weight, and Derek pressed his cheek against Scott's and then lowered his head, nosing at the bottom of Scott's hoodie.

Scott reached down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up to let Derek get at him, and Stiles put his hand over Scott's, lacing their fingers together. Scott's whole face was screwed up in a flinch of anticipation, and Stiles looked down to find Derek not looking much happier, just standing there with his nose an inch from Scott's side, his whole body straining away from what he was about to do.

"Derek," Stiles said. "Please, hurry."

Derek didn't look up; he just darted in.

Stiles didn't see the actual bite, which was hidden by his and Scott's hands and the bulk of Scott's shirts, but he felt it in the jerk of Scott's body against his.

Stiles held his breath, waiting for magic, or Scott to suddenly inhale and sit up, or--

"Oh, shit, is he going to turn into a wolf, too? Is he going to be stuck like you?"

Derek picked his head up and looked back and forth from Stiles to Scott and gave the I don't know shake that stood in for a shrug.

Scott, leaning against Stiles, said nothing. He didn't even twitch.

"No," Stiles whispered, closing his hand more tightly on Scott's, and took his other hand away from holding on to Scott to press clumsily against his throat, the edge of his cast digging in. There was a frantic pulse there, but Stiles couldn't tell if it was Scott's or his own, pounding in his fingers. Stiles felt horribly cold, all of a sudden. He had to put his arm back around Scott to keep hold of him as he started to shiver.

"Oh, fuck, Derek, what if--fuck, Scott, don't die, don't die, please don't be dead, please, you can't die on me--"

Derek stepped in, curling around them both, his tail following Stiles's arm around Scott, his muzzle on the back of Stiles's neck, pressing his head down. Stiles hid his face against the hood of Scott's sweatshirt, clinging tightly to him and trying not to actually sob while he listened desperately for Scott's breathing.

It had been too long, by now. It had to have been too long; in a minute he was going to have to let go and lay Scott down and realize that he'd just let his friend die--just got his scared, dying friend bitten by a wolf. What was he going to tell Scott's mom, what would he tell his dad, oh God...

Scott's hand squirmed away from his and Stiles looked up in time to see Scott frowning as he prodded his side and mumbled, "That really freaking hurts."

"Don't poke it, you dumbass," Stiles said, choking down the bubble of hysterical laughter he could feel in his chest. "Are you--holy shit, dude, are you okay? Are you a werewolf?"

Scott sniffled and then took a breath deep enough for Stiles to feel it. Derek uncurled from around them and ducked his head to nose at the bite, and Scott twitched away, coughing and shoving at Derek. "Ow, that tickles."

Derek lifted his head and growled, eyes flashing red.

Scott went very still, pressing back against Stiles, and Stiles said, "Derek, don't be a jerk, he just almost died."

Derek huffed, but his eyes went back to gray and Scott didn't twitch when Derek ducked his head to look at the bite again.

"So?" Stiles said, when neither Scott nor Derek said anything else. "Verdict? Is my best friend a werewolf now?"

Derek gave another I don't know shake and sat down next to them, studying Scott, who shrugged and didn't seem inclined to jump to his feet, or even support his own weight, anytime soon. "I'm not dead. I guess maybe I feel less like ass than I usually do after a bad asthma attack?"

"Yeah, speaking of," Stiles said, tugging his hand away from Scott's to poke Scott in the center of the chest. "Since when is your inhaler not working a thing that happens sometimes? Or--don't tell me that thing was empty, you're not that dumb."

Scott shook his head. "The last few weeks, it's happened a couple times. Not that bad, just it didn't go away as quickly as it usually does. Lacrosse, I guess."

"Just lacrosse?" Stiles prodded, because even without wolf-senses he could hear Scott not saying something.

Scott shrugged again, ducking his head. "The first time was, uh. In the woods."

"When you were looking for me," Stiles finished for him. "Dammit, Scott, you shouldn't--"

"Shut up," Scott snapped. "No way was I not going to help look for you, so just shut up."

Derek punctuated that with a snap of teeth, and nosed Stiles's poking finger aside to press his face against Scott's chest and then his cheek to Scott's cheek.

Stiles stared for a second--that was his, that was the way Derek touched him--and then he huffed and tilted his head back. "Crap. Now you two are going to be ganging up on me and you're both werewolves."

"Whatever," Scott said, and finally did sit up straight, tugging his shirts down to cover the bite. "I think we both know Derek still likes you better. And I definitely still like you better than I like Derek. No offense, Derek."

Derek huffed and shook his head, but he also pushed in past Scott to press his cheek against Stiles's. Stiles put his arms around Derek's neck, squeezing his eyes shut, because, holy shit, all of that had just happened, and...

"Crap, what time is it?" Stiles said abruptly, pulling back and yanking his mostly-useless phone out of his pocket. "Scott, is your mom expecting you home?"

"Nah, she's working a six-to-six. She's got the car. Danny dropped me off at the preserve gates after practice and I put my bike in the Jeep. I figured you could give me a ride back?"

"Back to my house," Stiles said firmly. "You may or may not be a supernatural creature who may or may not be about to transform into a full-on wolf, you're not staying home alone tonight."

Derek nodded emphatically at that, growling for emphasis, and Scott put his hands up in surrender. "Not arguing, you guys! Not arguing. Jeez."

* * *

Derek wouldn't let them try to climb out for nearly an hour after Scott was bitten. By that time Scott was breathing and moving around normally, and Stiles's hands had pretty much stopped shaking. Derek spotted both of them all the way up the wall, Scott first and then Stiles. Stiles found the cast more obnoxious going up than he had coming down, but he had apparently passed beyond the ability to feel fear at some point in the last few hours. It occurred to him that he might fall because he couldn't hold on properly, but he couldn't believe it would actually happen on top of everything else, and it didn't.

Derek kept circling them as they walked through the woods toward Stiles's Jeep. He would sniff at each of them without breaking stride and then go a little way ahead or double back, only to come racing up to circle around them again.

Halfway back they came to a break in the trees that showed the half-moon hanging in the sky ahead of them. Stiles stopped short and looked over at Scott. Scott stopped and looked back at Stiles, frowning in confusion, and then up at the moon. Stiles saw realization break over his face, stark in the moonlight, and he looked back to Stiles with a slightly pained thoughtful expression.

"I don't know," Scott said. "I don't feel any different."

Derek huffed behind them and then snapped his teeth, first at Stiles's heels, and then at Scott's. They both darted forward a few steps before falling back to a walk with Derek marching along between them.

When they did get to the Jeep, Stiles dug out the first aid kit and a flashlight. Scott pulled up his shirts to show him the bite, and Stiles turned the flashlight on and tucked it into Scott's fingers, bracing it against his side to shine in the right direction.

Stiles hadn't looked at the bite before. The oval ring of punctures in Scott's flesh was sickening; Stiles winced and turned his face away for a minute. Derek trotted into his line of sight and just stared at him, patient and implacable. Stiles exhaled and nodded and straightened up. Derek came to stand against his hip as Stiles ripped open an antiseptic packet and wiped the blood off of Scott's skin.

There was gummy half-dried blood caked over the bite itself, and a few lines of blood that had trickled down to Scott's jeans, but that was all.

"This is weird," Stiles said, frowning and looking down at Derek.

"Isn't this weird? Shouldn't it have bled more? I never even thought to put pressure on it. He should have been bleeding all over the place."

Derek gave yet another I don't know shake, and something finally crystallized in Stiles's brain. He stared down at Derek until Derek looked up at him.

"Stiles?" Scott said. "I don't know why it didn't bleed that much but I'm getting cold and this flashlight is heavy, so could you just put the bandage on already?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, grabbing the biggest gauze pad in the kit. "Sorry, here."

He got the gauze taped down to Scott's skin and let Derek sniff around the edges of the bandage before Scott let his arm down, dropping his shirt and letting the flashlight dangle in his hand, casting a pool of light on the ground.

Scott didn't try to shove Derek away this time, though, just offered his empty hand palm-up and said, "Derek, can I get in the car now?"

Derek touched his nose to Scott's hand and huffed, then herded him into the passenger's seat of the Jeep. He jumped up after Scott to nose at him once he was sitting down, supervising him while he put his seatbelt on.

When he finally jumped back down to the ground Stiles slammed the door on Scott and said, "I gotta ask Derek some questions, okay? I'll be back in a minute."

Scott just nodded, tilting his head back against the seat.

Stiles turned and walked off, not looking down to check whether Derek was with him.

Derek stopped him about ten feet into the trees, closing his teeth on Stiles's jeans. As usual, Derek used teeth on Stiles's clothes but not his skin. Derek had always--almost always--been so careful not to bite him by accident.

Stiles pushed his nose away and Derek let go long enough for Stiles to turn and crouch down to look him in the eye.

"You were born like this, weren't you," Stiles said, because he'd kind of known that. "You and Laura."

Derek nodded.

"And Heather and Mark and your aunt and uncle, they were born human, and they stayed human. There were people in your family who were human," Stiles said.

Derek nodded again, looking warier.

"Nobody in your family was bitten, were they," Stiles said, not really a question.

Derek tilted his head back and forth but then nodded.

"Not quite but close enough," Stiles translated. "And you never bit anyone before, did you?"

Derek shook his head without hesitation.

"You've never been close to somebody who was bitten," Stiles filled in. "You have literally no idea what's going to happen to Scott. Not when it'll happen, or what he'll do, or whether he'll get stuck as a wolf like you, or--anything."

Derek tilted his head again, sighed, shook his head.

"Okay," Stiles said, leaning in and wrapping his arms around Derek. "So, this is cool. I'm glad neither of us know what the hell we're doing with the maybe-supernatural-creature who I'm taking home to sleep in my bed. This is going to be awesome."

Derek growled a little bit, sounding more anxious than angry, and Stiles pulled back to look him in the eye again. "Oh, no, dude, I know I should be freaking terrified, I just used it all up when I thought Scott was dead. Now I'm totally Zen, it's great."

Derek growled for real this time. His eyes flashed red and everything.

"Yeah," Stiles said, shaking his head. "That works better on Scott, dude, sorry. I'll be careful. If anything happens I'll drag him back out here and you can deal with him, but right now we have--" Stiles peeked at his phone, "--thirty-two minutes to get home before my dad, so if we're lucky he won't be pulling us over for speeding on the way there. Keep an ear out for us."

Stiles hugged Derek one more time and ran back to the Jeep, looking over at Scott with a grin as he started it up. "So, how do you feel?"

"Stiles," Scott said, without opening his eyes. "If I turn into a wolf, you have to tell--"

"This had better be about your mom, Scott," Stiles said, pulling out onto the dirt road and hitting the gas as hard as he dared.

"You'll think of what to tell my mom, she'll be okay," Scott said, opening his eyes and shaking his head.

"But Allison! I'm supposed to take her out tomorrow to cheer her up and if I just disappear, it's gonna be the worst. And her dad will be convinced wolves ate me and he'll probably lock her up or something to keep her safe and she'll be even sadder!"

"He'll lock her in her room right before he comes out to the woods and shoots you," Stiles pointed out. "Scott, seriously, how is the biggest problem here whether it's going to make Allison sad? What if you turn into a wolf and you have to live in the woods as a wolf?"

"Derek will be here," Scott pointed out. "Derek won't let me get shot, and you'll come visit us. I'll be fine. But Allison won't have a Derek, she'll just have you. You have to tell her something, if I can't--if I'm--you have to do something, okay? You have to make it okay for her."

Stiles laughed helplessly. "I'll try, dude. And if you turn into a wolf I'm bringing your mom and my dad out here to see you, so be prepared to somehow prove that you're really you, okay? I am not getting blamed for this shit if you disappear because you're a wolf now."

"Technically it was your idea," Scott pointed out cheerfully. "Just bring a Ouija board."

"Scott, we are not even talking about you dying--" Stiles's throat went tight. Could that still happen, after everything? Should he be rushing Scott to a hospital? Derek hadn't seemed that worried but Derek didn't know.

"No, dude, what are you saying? I mean I could point to letters and stuff, so I could spell things for my mom--you know, so she could ask me questions only I know and I could answer."

Stiles looked back and forth as quickly as he dared from Scott to the winding road through the preserve. "You could--you could tell us your name."

"Yeah, but that's easy, anyone might know that," Scott said, waving that away. "I could tell her what mushy nickname she called me when I was a little kid or something."

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, keeping his eyes firmly on the road as he navigated through a couple of forks to get them back to the county highway.

When they were on asphalt again and doing exactly four miles over the speed limit, Stiles said, "Leaving aside the whole fact that we're not really trying to filter out other sentient wolves impersonating you, I mean I should have thought of that weeks ago, so Derek could actually tell me things other than yes or no."

"Oh!" Scott said. "Oh, yeah, he could probably have told you all kinds of stuff. Dude, why did I think of that before you?"

Stiles scowled at the road. "I guess I've been distracted."

* * *

Scott stepped through the door of Stiles's bedroom and said, "Oh, bed," like it was some kind of revelation. Stiles stood to one side and watched while Scott stripped down to his boxers and crawled into Stiles's bed on his usual side, arranging the tangle of covers over himself and stealing the best pillow.

Stiles plugged his phone in and then headed to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth. He scoured his tongue, mixing the bitter-metal taste of adrenaline with artificial mint until he nearly gagged on it. When he stepped back into the hallway his dad was there, frowning as he looked through the open door of Stiles's bedroom.

All the terror that Stiles had thought he'd gone past feeling swamped him at the sight of his dad.

Stiles was suddenly aware of what Scott might be, hidden in the shadows from his dad. He was suddenly aware of what could have happened, of what he might have had to tell his dad right now if Derek hadn't been able to save Scott. What he might still have to tell his dad, and Scott's mom, if anything else went wrong.

"Dad," Stiles said, his voice coming out high and small like a little kid's.

His dad turned toward him immediately, his frown deepening. "Stiles, what..."

Stiles lunged toward his dad, grabbing his jacket to haul him into a hug, hiding his face against his dad's shoulder and inhaling the familiar smell of gun oil and the Sheriff's Department. After a couple of seconds his dad's arms went around him, squeezing him painfully tight. Stiles gritted his teeth and didn't make a sound until his dad let up, pushing firmly on his shoulders.

"Come on, deep breath," his dad said in a familiar tone of patient command. "You can do this, count it out."

Stiles inhaled, counting automatically to four as he did. He flexed his hands on his dad's jacket as he held it and then breathed back out just as slowly, just like his dad had learned to coach him to do when the panic attacks were bad. A second later he actually opened his eyes, meeting his dad's worried gaze.

"Hey," his dad said, raising one hand from Stiles's shoulder to rub over his hair. "What is this, Stiles? I haven't seen you that panicked in a long time."

Stiles nearly choked on the thought of lying to his dad, and had to close his eyes and count off a few more breaths. Tell as much of the truth as you can, he reminded himself. Just leave out Derek. And werewolves.

"Scott," Stiles said, opening his eyes as he nodded in the direction of his bedroom. "We... we went out to the woods tonight..."

He trailed off long enough to let his dad give him a look for that, and his dad came through, his lips pursing and eyebrows lowering. It was easier to lie to his dad like this, when he looked suspicious and disapproving, than when he just looked worried.

"Scott had an asthma attack while we were out there," Stiles said, and his dad's face shifted toward something between horror and fury.

"It was okay!" Stiles said quickly, feeling his face heat and knowing the lie--this part of the lie--was going to be obvious.

"It wasn't a big deal, he had his inhaler. But I realized I didn't have cell signal where we were. I just, when I saw you, I thought about what could have happened."

"Oh, now you think about it," his dad hissed, glancing back toward the bedroom door. "Not when you dragged Scott out into the woods--"

"He wanted to, it was his idea," Stiles insisted, because he at least knew better than to say he followed me, I didn't want him there.

"He didn't want to before last week," his dad said sharply, jabbing a finger into Stiles's chest. "This is you, Stiles, this is on you. If something had happened to Scott tonight--"

His dad stopped short of actually saying it, and Stiles looked away, his eyes stinging. They'd come right up against the truth anyway, and it hurt worse to have it hanging between them in silence.

"It would be my fault," Stiles said quietly. "I know. I didn't--I know, Dad. That's what I'm saying, that's what I'm scared of. I know."

Something could still happen to Scott tonight, after all, and if it did it would be Stiles's fault. It had been his idea.

He realized, standing there, unable to even look at his dad, that if Scott died--if Scott even changed into a wolf and got stuck that way--Stiles would have to ask Derek to bite him, too. He wouldn't be able to face anyone who understood what he'd done less than Derek would. He wouldn't be able to stay behind if Scott and Derek were living in the woods full time, and if Scott was--if Scott was gone--then he'd have no one but Derek. His dad would know that what had happened to Scott was his fault, and even if he pretended to forgive Stiles, or still love him, Stiles wouldn't be able to stay. So either he would die the same way Scott had, or he'd become a wolf and stay with Derek forever.

It didn't help to know what he would do. It just felt like being backed into a corner that he could see in really perfect detail.

His dad sighed and pulled him into another hug, like it was okay, like it could possibly be okay. Stiles was too frozen to resist.

"So keep on knowing it tomorrow, okay?" His dad shook him gently without pushing him away. "Don't just forget this and go right back to the same thing."

Stiles laughed unsteadily, still hiding his face against his dad's shoulder. He shook his head. "No. Not going back to the same thing, I promise."

"Good," his dad sighed, giving him a pat on the back. "In that case, I believe you're supposed to be in bed."

Stiles kept his head down, letting his dad turn him and steer him back to the bedroom. He stumbled over to the dresser on his own to grab pajamas, and hesitated with his hand was hovering over the plain gray t-shirt, telling himself his dad wouldn't know what it was.

He only realized his dad had followed him in when he heard him say, "Hey, Scott."

Stiles turned around to see his dad had turned on the lamp and was crouching next to the bed with one hand on Scott's bare shoulder, shaking him gently.

Stiles just stood there, frozen, waiting for something awful to happen--Scott to change suddenly into a monster, his dad's voice to shift into alarm because Scott had stopped breathing.

Scott just moaned and tugged the blanket higher over himself, burrowing down into the pillow. Stiles tried to exhale quietly.

"Scott," his dad repeated, more sharply.

"Sheriff?" Scott managed to blur the word into a single sleepy syllable, turning his face just slightly out of the pillow.

His dad touched Scott's face, tugging one eyelid open. Scott blinked quickly as he pulled back, making a face.

"How are you feeling?" His dad asked. "Do you want me to bring you over to your mom?"

Scott shook his head. "Just tired. I'm okay, Stiles took care of me."

His dad glanced back at him. Stiles gave him an uncertain smile, clutching his pajama pants to his chest.

"I'll tell her where you are, then," his dad said, ruffling Scott's hair before he shut the lamp off again. "She'll be coming by to get you when she gets off shift, so you boys had better get to sleep now."

Stiles nodded quickly. Scott was already snoring as his dad turned away, but Stiles didn't even exhale all the way until he heard the front door close behind him.

* * *

Stiles threw his arm and leg automatically over Derek's back, pressing his face into the warm fur of Derek's shoulder. Just when he'd gotten all comfy he suddenly remembered: Scott.

He jerked away and half-upright, pushing himself up to look over Derek's back for Scott. Derek was lying down the middle of Stiles's bed, his tail reaching almost to the end of the mattress. Now that Stiles was fully aware he realized he could feel a humming tension in Derek's body; Derek was wide awake, looking over at Scott.

Scott was lying just the way Stiles's dad had left him, on his side facing the edge of the bed, the blankets pulled up to his shoulders.

"Scott," Stiles said softly. "Hey, Scott, look who's here."

Scott grumbled something vague and annoyed-sounding and mashed his face farther into the pillow, and Stiles felt Derek shift anxiously under him.

"No, hey, he's always like this," Stiles murmured, and draped himself more fully over Derek to reach out and tug the blanket off of Scott.

"Dammit, Stiles," Scott muttered, groping backward for the blanket.

Stiles yanked it out of his reach, though, and after a few seconds Scott huffed--a thoroughly wolflike noise--and squirmed over onto his other side, scooting toward Derek's warmth. He didn't hold on to Derek the way Stiles usually did, but he curled in close, tucking the top of his head against Derek's shoulder.

Derek turned his head down to touch his nose to Scott's hair, huffing softly against the top of his head.

Scott nodded and tucked himself a tiny bit closer as he settled down into sleep.

Stiles nodded back and lay down again properly himself, mostly on the mattress with his arm and leg over Derek, just a few inches from being able to touch Scott on Derek's other side.

On the edge of sleeping again Stiles felt Derek exhale warmly against the top of his head, and he smiled. "Yeah, you're stuck with both of us now."


End file.
